(1894, Salem) The Ghastly Attic of the Hargrove Sisters: Erased From All Official Records | HO!!!!

(1894, Salem) The Ghastly Attic of the Hargrove Sisters: Erased From All Official Records | HO!!!!

In the winter of 1894, Salem, Massachusetts was no stranger to chilling winds and haunted tales. But that year, the town’s whispers turned to something far more disturbing—the saga of the Hargrove sisters and the attic that should never have existed.

The Sisters Behind the Shutters

Eleanor and Margaret Hargrove were the daughters of Thaddius Hargrove, a textile baron whose fortune bought a sprawling Victorian mansion on the edge of Salem. The estate, admired for its wraparound porch and turret, soon became infamous for its secrets. The sisters, unmarried and in their thirties, were pillars of Salem society—generous to the church, polite at every gathering. Yet, no one knew them well.

What unfolded in the spring of 1894 would turn their name into a taboo, spoken only in hushed tones, if at all.

The Attic That Shouldn’t Exist

According to architectural plans filed in 1871, the Hargrove mansion had no attic. Yet, scattered accounts and personal letters preserved by the Essex County Historical Society suggest otherwise. Dr. James Sullivan, a local physician, began making frequent house calls to the estate in late 1893, treating Margaret for “female hysteria”—a catch-all diagnosis of the era. Sullivan’s visits abruptly stopped in February 1894, and he refused to discuss the Hargrove sisters thereafter.

The household included a cook, a maid, and a groundskeeper, all of whom would later give conflicting accounts. Martha Winters, the cook, fled in March, telling friends only, “Some houses keep their secrets best of all.”

The Morning Everything Changed

On April 7th, Eleanor appeared at the Salem Police Station in a state of agitation, begging for help with her sister. Officer William Brody’s report—one of the few documents to survive—describes arriving at the mansion to find Eleanor staring blankly in the parlor, unable to guide them further. Upstairs, Margaret was found calmly arranging her hair, dismissing her sister’s concerns as “flights of fancy.” The officers left, noting Eleanor’s disappointment—and her cryptic whisper: “She won’t let you see the attic. She never does.”

Strange Repairs and Stranger Smells

Within weeks, neighbors noticed deliveries of lumber and building materials. A carpenter from Danvers was hired for “routine maintenance,” and the groundskeeper was instructed to deny all visitors. On April 22nd, smoke poured from the chimney, carrying an acrid scent that neighbor Catherine Lloyd described as “not wood or coal, but something altogether different.”

By the end of April, the sisters resumed their public routines, appearing more alike than ever. Reverend Thomas Blackwood, troubled by Eleanor’s confession during a private meeting, requested a wellness visit with the town doctor. They were received politely but denied access beyond the foyer. As they left, Blackwood heard distant weeping from upstairs. Margaret smiled, “The wind plays strange tricks in old houses, Reverend.”

Storms, Screams, and Locked Doors

May brought heavy rains and thunder. During one storm, neighbors heard terrible cries from the mansion. Farmer Albert Preston saw a figure in white at a window that, according to plans, shouldn’t exist. The groundskeeper turned him away, citing illness.

When police and the health inspector visited, Margaret explained away the noise as a banging shutter. The attic was “inaccessible due to a damaged ladder.” The inspector noted both sisters grew anxious at the mention of the attic, and Margaret’s grip on Eleanor’s arm left her wincing. Officer Brody later confided he saw scratch marks on the parlor door, as if someone had tried to claw their way out.

Medical Mysteries and Missing Sisters

Rumors swirled. The local pharmacist’s ledger showed orders for sedatives and enough plaster of Paris for a full body cast—explained away as supplies for a cousin’s railway accident (no such cousin or accident was ever found). Eleanor soon vanished from public life, with Margaret claiming she needed rest and seclusion.

The maid, Gertrude Hathaway, was forbidden from entering Eleanor’s room, instructed to leave meals outside the door. Every night at 8:00, Margaret carried a tray upstairs, returning an hour later with untouched food and an empty decanter smelling of medicine.

The Face in the Window

A fire in the servants’ quarters brought the brigade onto the property. Firefighter Thomas Collins saw a pale face at the highest window. When he told Margaret, she replied, “That’s impossible. No one is up there.” Hathaway reported hearing furniture moving and hammering from the attic, explained away as repairs.

Margaret attended church alone, telling Reverend Blackwood that Eleanor had “taken a turn for the worse.” Blackwood’s journal entries for the week after his visit are missing, but his next entry reads, “Some sins cannot be absolved through confession alone. Some require more permanent measures.”

Disappearance, Doubles, and the Fire

On June 15th, Margaret announced she and Eleanor would travel to Europe for Eleanor’s health. Yet, ship manifests show no record of their departure. In October, a traveling salesman saw a woman’s face in an upper window, mouth open in a silent scream. Margaret greeted him at the door, insisting “I am always here. It is Eleanor who comes and goes.” As he left, he saw two identical figures in the entrance hall.

Dr. Edward Pierce, called to treat a fall, found Margaret alone. She led him to a bedroom where a silent woman lay with her face to the wall. Margaret described symptoms so precisely that Pierce wrote a prescription without examining the patient. The next day, Eleanor greeted him at the door, claiming no knowledge of any fall.

The Night Salem Burned

On September 18th, 1895, a violent thunderstorm struck the Hargrove estate. Lightning set the upper floors ablaze. Margaret was found in the garden, laughing, “Eleanor is where she has always been.” As firefighters battled the flames, the attic floor collapsed, revealing a hidden room not shown in any plans.

Personal accounts describe a space with two sets of women’s clothing, hairbrushes, gloves, and a notebook filled with handwriting exercises: “I am Margaret Hargrove,” written over and over. Scratch marks covered the walls and door, some stained with blood. A broken mirror was positioned at the foot of the bed, and behind it, a message scratched into the plaster: “She is becoming me.”

Dr. Pierce’s private notes describe evidence of restraint, psychological manipulation, and crude surgical modifications. The body recovered showed signs of prolonged confinement and attempts to alter appearance—fractured hands, hair cut short, and heterochromia (one brown, one blue eye).

Aftermath and Erasure

Within days, Margaret sold the ruined estate and vanished. Town officials demolished the ruins, cleared the land, and by 1897, a public park occupied the site. All records of the Hargrove sisters were systematically removed—police reports redacted, newspaper archives altered, church records missing.

But diaries, letters, and personal effects survived. Margaret’s journal, found in Boston, speaks of “transference of essence” and mirror exercises copied from her grandfather’s red book—a nod to esoteric practices brought from England. The groundskeeper, Jenkins, later confined to a state hospital, claimed, “There were never just two Hargrove sisters. The attic held the truth.”

A Legacy of Shadows

Reverend Blackwood’s rediscovered journals detail his final visit: Margaret led him to the attic, where Eleanor sat in a corner, whispering, “She’s trying to become me.” Margaret threatened Blackwood, predicting that authorities would find Eleanor downstairs, perfectly composed, if he tried to intervene. Blackwood’s final note: “I am not who you think I am.”

Missing persons cases across New England in the following years often involved women who were last seen with a refined lady matching Margaret’s description. In each case, friends noted subtle changes in the missing woman’s personality upon her return.

Artifacts tied to the case—a box of human hair, fingernail clippings spelling “help” and “Eleanor,” a diary entry, “I hear her practicing my voice at night”—have disappeared from archives. The most haunting find: a grave in Maine marked “Margaret Eleanor Smith,” with the inscription, “She found herself at last,” and initials EH, 1861–1920.

What Remains

Today, the park that stands on the former estate refuses to grow trees in certain spots. On stormy nights, neighbors claim to hear a woman’s voice calling, “Eleanor,” from the empty air above the ground.

The case of the Hargrove sisters is not just a ghost story—it’s a lesson in how history can be erased when it becomes too disturbing to bear. What happened in that attic may never be fully known. But as long as diaries, letters, and whispers remain, the Hargrove sisters’ secrets will haunt Salem—and anyone who dares to remember.